


My Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Dental Dams

by seriousfic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina just wants to make sure Henry is safe. A quick vision of the future, that's it. She wasn't expecting to get a look at her and Emma waking up in each others' arms... or what they did in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Regina made it three nights before she made the deal. It would take months for the ship to arrive in Neverland, and she simply couldn’t last that long not knowing if her son was alive or dead. She had to know whether they would succeed. So, after three days and three nights without even the little peace she’d had in Storybrooke, she went to Gold. She broke her own rule for dealing with him and promised him a favor in exchange for his famed precognition. He agreed readily—seemed glad to be rid of it. As soon as she had it, Regina didn’t even wait for the last trade of barbed witticisms. She stomped out of the room as fast as her heels could carry her, and back to her own. She wanted privacy in case of the unthinkable—she knew she’d be inconsolable if the future held a tiny grave, and no one would be privy to her weakness.

 

Lying in bed, she summoned up the tentative new power.  With a jerk like falling asleep, she was elsewhere…  back in her bedroom in the manor. Lying on the floor.

 

Regina looked around frantically. What had gone wrong? Had Gold tricked her, used his power to return her to Storybrooke? He wouldn’t dare—he must’ve known that putting her that much rather from her son would have her burning down anything he showed the slightest affection for. Now she saw; the room was hers, but it was different. The atmosphere was off, the décor had changed—most obviously, there was a calendar, and the month was far off from what it had been.

 

Regina stood and cursed herself. Even more obviously, the bed was full. She herself was in it—another her with a trace of gray at the end of her hair and one new wrinkle at the corner of her eyes. Beside her—the other her—was a sheeted lump far bigger than when Henry had used to crawl into bed with her.

 

All Regina could think was that it had better not be Hook. The man was attractive, true, but she had been queen--there had to be standards.

 

She reached for the sheets to pull them back, but her hand passed vexingly through them. She was immaterial—an observer only. All she got for her trouble was the sight of gold between the sheets and the pillow.

 

Hair.

 

As if a trap had been sprung, Emma pulled back the covers even as Regina realized the possibility. The two of them. Her and _her._ They were in bed together. _Cuddling._

How? Why? Had some kind of catastrophe claimed every other available bed? That still didn't explain why a queen would opt to share hers with the most unpleasant of peasants. And the skin contact! Were they huddled together for warmth? Regina looked outside. She saw no sign of an ice age, so what justification could there be?

 

"Regina," Emma said suddenly, nearly shocking Regina out of her skin before it occurred to her that if she couldn't touch _her_ , then Emma surely couldn't see her. "Babe, you've gotta quit it with the night-spooning. I pull up the comforter because I think it's gonna be the usual meat locker outside, then I wake up and there's a furnace with boobs on my back."

 

"If you didn't wear a football jersey the size of Delaware to bed..." said the other Regina--no, Regina couldn't think of her as that, a queen and a witch--this was Mayor Mills, a fiction that had somehow sprung to life.

 

"It's lucky," Emma insisted. "Signed by Troy Aikman."

 

"What do you need luck for?" Mayor Mills pouted. "You already have me."

 

"Oh sweet goddess," Regina muttered. She'd take Snow White singing to the fucking wildlife over this.

 

"Do you know what day it is?" Emma asked.

 

For the first time, Mayor Mills craned her head from the pillow. "No--that's tomorrow. Henry's still at college."

 

College! So, Regina thought, she would get him back. She'd get him back and he'd go to college. Having Emma vined around her like dutch elm disease wasn't so bad compared to that.

 

Well, yes, yes it was. What the hell was going on? Had Emma made her some kind of sex slave? Seemed a little dark for her, but then, she seemed a little kinky. Or maybe it was the other way around--not that that was Regina's style. And if it was, she could surely do better than _Emma Swan_.

 

"Yes, he is," Emma was saying, burying her nose in the perfectly-coiffed mass of Mayor Mills's hair--Regina was glad that much hadn't changed. "Which means this is the last day we have the house to ourselves. No more shagging on the living room carpet. No more screaming each other’s names."

 

"However will we survive?" Mayor Mills said, muffled through her pillow.

 

"You tell her," Regina said to her doppelganger, arms crossed. "Wait, what'd she do on the carpet?"

 

"I think," Emma said, "the only sensible solution is to fuck each other's brains out until we can't even think about sex--all within the next twenty-four hours."

 

"Or we could find the gag," Mayor Mills said, to a blinking, quivering pause from Emma.

 

"I finally get to gag her?" Regina said, both to herself and to herself. "Well... silver linings."

 

"Well, yes," Emma agreed, "or we could have sex in the mine shaft again--" It was Mayor Mills' turn to shudder in remembrance, "--but I really want to see if I could conquer your sex drive, for once. I can't always be the one begging for you to have mercy. It's bad for my self-esteem."

 

"She has self-esteem?" Regina asked.

 

"Alright," Mayor Mills yawned. "Shall I tie myself to the bed or do you want to do it?"

 

"Go take a shower," Emma suggested. "I like you better when you're clean."

 

" _Lies_ ," Mayor Mills retorted as she got out of bed, shedding her silver sleeping gown just before she left the bedroom for the bathroom. Regina studied her future self carefully. Mortality had had remarkably little impact on her. The good news was rather spoiled by the sight of--ugh--a 'landing strip' in place of her usual efficient Brazilian. Emma's bad influence, surely. 

 

Mayor Mills did seem rather happy, almost whistling as she turned on a hot shower and checked her usual shampoo routine, assuring herself that each bottle was sufficiently full. Regina nodded approvingly. At the thought of an alternate her rooming with Emma Swan, Regina would've pictured herself in a soiled tanktop, with a rat's nest of hair and, somehow, an illegitimate pregnancy. Thankfully, the forces of rationality hadn't completely conceded this... 'future.'

 

Mayor Mills stepped under the shower stream and exhaled her sleep into the hot water. Regina could've licked her lips. Hot running water. Yet another thing Hook's ship was missing, along with decent company and intelligent conversation.

 

"You're going to break things off with her?" Regina asked her future self. "We all have moments of weakness, but begging Snow White for friendship isn't half so bad as turning into her daughter's... Valentine! What could you possibly see in something like that?"

 

"Knock knock," Emma said.

 

Both Reginas turned to see Emma on the other side of the shower door. She had taken Mayor Mills' advice and gotten rid of the football jersey. Regina caught sight of her other's slack-jawed expression and hoped her own wasn't identical.

 

Emma eased her way inside while they were still stunned. "Twenty-four hours to sexually satisfy Regina Mills. I'd better get an early start. Turn around."

 

"I will not!" Regina fairly shouted. "Get out of my bathroom and wait your turn to use the shower! And you should be grateful I even let you clog the drain with your--your--hair!"

 

"Wash my back?" Mayor Mills asked, her voice far below a shout.

 

Regina would've believed she was seeing an elaborate puppet show before suggesting that really was her, offering up her wet back to Emma's depraved intentions.

 

Emma, for all her faults, at least realized how blessed she was. Not giving Mayor Mills a second to change her mind, she darted in and kissed Mills over her shoulder as she pressed the mayor's body into the tiled wall. Regina opened her mouth, a bare squeak coming out, as she watched herself and her mortal enemy--french.

 

Emma, again, seemed aware of how ridiculous her circumstances were. "Your highness," she said teasingly, mock-bowing as she nonetheless lowered herself down Mills' body, kissing the gleaming wet flesh as Regina herself would've done in her place. Ten years into the future and she'd found a redeeming quality in Emma: good taste.

 

"M'lady," Emma continued, now nipping at the square of flesh at the base of Mills' spine where the skin seemed so uncommonly sensitive. Regina grabbed her own back in sympathy. It'd been a minor miracle when Graham had stumbled across that... sweet spot... so many years ago, and she'd been so adverse to revealing her weakness that she'd pretended her rapid orgasm hadn't even occurred, kicking him out of bed on an invented pretense.

 

Now Emma was pulling the skin there with her teeth like a cat clawing curtains, and by the look on Mills' face, time hadn't done anything to diminish that touch's hateful effectiveness.

 

"Come and be done with it," Regina advised herself--realizing this would literally be a 'Note to self'.

 

But Emma, lowborn bitch that she was, wouldn't let her off that easy. She stopped biting and simply kissed, and Regina saw Mills' tears of frustration hidden in the shower spray. God help her, she was turning into this bitch's bitch.

 

"I'll tell you what, queenie." Emma spoke while kissing Mills's ass--something Regina had often wished for her to do, but this mostly wasn't what she'd had in mind. "Even if you hadn't shoved your royal scepter into some very thankful areas of mine, I could tell you were a queen by this royal _fucking_ ass."

 

"You always say the nicest things," Regina and Mills said in unison. Regina looked at her double in surprise. It was good to know some things never changed.

 

"Now," Mills continued, "are you going to stare at it all day or are you going to do something before the water gets cold?"

 

"Don't tempt me, baby. I could spend a year staring at this ass."

 

"Just a year?" Mills teased right back.

 

"For God's sake, _fuck!_ " Regina demanded.

 

As if hearing her, Emma was defiant one last time--planting a kiss on Mills's tailbone as her strong hands kneaded that royal fucking ass, drawing her cheeks apart and letting them clap back together. Then Mills' hand clamped down on her hair, pulling on it with the same perverted fascination Emma had had, playing with her erogenous zone.

 

Emma obeyed the implied order, getting down on her knees and vining her arms around Mills' thighs. Regina watched breathlessly. With her free hand, her future self was actually spreading her ass cheeks. And Emma--Emma was staring at the small brown star of Mills' ass like she was hungry.

 

"Oh, you dirty little bitch," Regina said, not thinking to wonder why she stumbled over the words.

 

Her other self seemed to see nothing wrong with this—in fact, she seemed quite used to the idea of Emma licking the tender skin between her holes, then teasingly lower, almost to her crotch, before slithering her tongue back… there.

 

Regina had never—not _once—_ allowed anything to happen back there. She hadn’t even thought of it. It was depraved, indecent, _low._ But, seeing the look reflected on her face as Mills gave into the sensation, she wondered for a moment—actually _wondered._

“Stop this!” she insisted in a low whisper, as much to herself as to Emma’s lover. “Stop this right this instant or I’ll—“

 

“Yes…” Mayor Mills moaned gently as Emma’s tongue washed over her asshole, not even penetrating, simply—Regina couldn’t even think about it. It was so wrong. So… _wonderfully_ wrong.

 

She was seeing her own naked body, spread-eagled against the wall of her shower, legs akimbo with her worst enemy kneeling behind her and literally tonguing her ass. And it was arousing her. As she watched, Mills rocked her hips back into Emma’s face, as if insisting on more—but really, making room for her right hand to slide down to her pussy, her left forearm pressed against the wall to cushion Mills’ head as she gently drove it against her soft flesh. If it weren’t for her foresight, the pleasure Emma was producing would’ve had her headbutting the tile.

 

“You’d better make her come. I’ve seen those Terminator movies, I know how to mess you up,” Regina found herself telling Emma,  her own sex feeling in need of attention. She felt an overwhelming need to just shove her hand down her panties and—what?—join in? But she couldn’t. Couldn’t expose herself to Emma fucking Swan and this _stranger_ she’d become.

 

But she couldn’t stop watching either. And she needn’t have bothered with thinking up a way to set up a nasty future surprise for the future Emma. She was doing exactly as Regina had told her. Regina could see her double’s face contort in pleasure, her eyes shut, her mouth working in tiny syllables. Emma shook her face, doing something that Regina could only quantity by the squeal Mills let loose, then she slapped Mills’ hand away from her own pussy and covered the pink flesh with her own hand. Shoving three fingers deep inside.

 

Mills screamed now, biting her own fingers and throwing her head back, breasts heaving, hips working between where Emma was licking and where Emma was fingering. Regina watched in disbelief, knowing from sight alone that she’d never felt something so intense. She was always reserved in the bedchamber, dignified, politic—except this woman was mewling like a common whore. And it wasn’t an act. No matter what happened to her, Regina would never debase herself that way to please a partner.

 

No. Emma was really making her feel— _all that._

It was quite a realization, finding out that she envied Emma’s bedmate, even if that bedmate was technically herself.

 

It must’ve come as a shock to Mayor Mills as well; or at least, a cognitive dissonance she had never quite reconciled. At the moment of orgasm—and Regina could _tell_ it was an orgasm, with the unsightly face she had trained herself never to make, but that Emma had returned with a vengeance—Mills swore into the linoleum: "You pretty... pink... _fucking PRINCESS!"_

Then the strength went out of her legs. She slid down the wall, neatly slipping into Emma’s arms so they both ended up on the floor. Regina stood over them, mouth agape. When she saw them slide together, Emma’s arms around Mills and Mills’ arms around Emma—even their legs intertwined—she actually raised her hands to her face like a horror movie heroine about to scream. Sex was one thing; obviously, Emma had so debased herself that her _experience_ could be put to use. There wasn’t too much shame in sleeping with an enemy if there was some sexual prowess to be enjoyed.

 

But no. Emma Swan was actually stroking Regina’s back, whispering sweet nothings into her ear like… oh no.

 

Regina looked at their fingers—entwined, of course—and saw two circles of gleaming silver on the ring fingers. They matched, Emma wearing a simple, functional wedding band and Mills’… Mills had a ring with a goodly-sized but quite tasteful amethyst stone, very nice actually, but that wasn’t the point!

 

“I’m going to lose my mind,” Regina said despondently. It was like one of Henry’s awful comic books where a superhero goes to the future and discovers a nuclear wasteland. Only far worse, because their future selves were generally zombies, not people having sex ( _mind-blowing_ sex) with Emma “pizza is a food group” Swan!

 

“Round one,” Emma said, adding insult to injury. She was nuzzling Mills. Like a really obnoxious puppy. “Satisfied?”

 

“Not hardly,” Mills replied. “But a good start.”

 

“The only downside of that is I can’t kiss you after.” Emma nuzzled harder. “Like you don’t have the cleanest ass in Storybrooke.”

 

“You’re right,” Mills said, gazing into Emma’s eyes. “You can’t kiss me. Finish your shower; you didn’t use any soap. As for me, I think I’ll sleep in this morning. After five minutes with Listerine, you can join me.”

 

“Admit it, you get off on bossing me around.”

 

“Oh, no, dear, it wears on my soul like you wouldn’t believe.” Mills, commiserating, drew her forehead against Emma’s. “But I know how wet it makes you, so I endure.”

 

Mills got up, leaving Emma stewing by the drain. “That’s the shower spray!” she called.

 

Mills retrieved her shower robe and left the bathroom, taking the time to turn the bottle of Listerine at the sink so the label faced Emma.

 

“Regina?” Emma called, and both of them looked back to see Emma had gotten up and detached the showerhead. “Sure you don’t want to help me wash up?”

 

Before either of them could answer, Regina felt the vision suddenly dispel. She looked around frantically, catching a few glimpses of her house being swallowed up by the real world. She was back on the ship, back in her room, and Emma was there.

 

Regina nearly screamed, scrambling back in her bunk. Never mind that Emma was staring at her with simple concern, and the usual world-weary attitude she copped whenever they were in the same room. Regina half-expected Emma to strip her clothes off and subject her to God only knew what.

 

Hoped might’ve been a better word.

 

“Are you coming?” Emma asked.

 

“That’s none of your business!”

 

Emma’s face wrinkled with confusion. “But… dinner’s ready? What, do you want one of us to bring it to you on a silver platter, your highness?”

 

“No, I’ll… I’ll be down presently,” Regina announced, with a semblance of dignity. Emma just rolled her eyes.

 

It occurred to Regina that, for them to be married, one of them must’ve been attracted to the other. And it surely wasn’t her to Emma; much more sensible was the notion that Emma, of course, was lusting for Regina’s own perfect body. Such a thing could be turned to her advantage. More importantly, Regina could use it to shut the little bitch up.

 

“I could use a good meal,” Regina said, stretching extravagantly. Letting her body bloom through the layers of clothing for Emma’s eyes to avail themselves of. “Something warm and tasty. I hope you have something like that for me, Emma.”

 

“I, uh…” Emma shook her head slightly, like she’d just woken from a nap. “Yeah, it’s pirate food, so, probably sucks.”

 

Regina walked slowly past Emma, brushing just a little too close and flashing a smile that was just a bit too friendly. “Well, sometimes things do just… suck.” She put a particular emphasis on that last word. “We just have to enjoy it as best we can. Isn’t that right, Emma?”

 

“I… guess?”

 

“Perhaps I could scrounge something up, just for the two of us. I’d hate to see you go to bed without being filled up.” Regina raised one last eyebrow, then left the room, sashaying just enough to leave Emma wondering if it was deliberate. Henry alive and a clueless Emma hopelessly in love with her—this might just be a fun voyage yet.


	2. Chapter 2

You wanted to put a coat on him, seeing him standing there in the cold night. The boy looked anything but well-fed, his limbs carven from running and playing all day. Not an ounce of fat. Dwarfed by the thick coils of ship’s rope that held him and the tree he was bound to. Yes, it was easy to forget he had been shooting arrows at them not ten minutes ago, following Pan’s orders. Easy for everyone but Regina.

 

She could already feel her hand plunging into his chest, the fading warmth as her magic changed his heart from flesh and blood to a convenient amber, then the give in it as she squeezed the answers from him. Henry. She’d make the Lost Boy say his name…

 

Only it wasn’t that simple anymore. She had her own personal conscience now, almost a ghost of the woman she’d once been, haunting her. Emma Swan. As wounded as her, as broken, but arranged against her. The shooting star to her dark moon, kept together only because they orbited around the same sun. Regina had seen her inside and out. The tough exterior she presented to Regina now, in the present, the armor she wore as Regina’s enemy. And in the future, she took it off as Regina’s ally, and more.

 

Regina had used Rumpelstiltskin’s gift of foresight and seen the next chapter in the story. The angry child, the orphan, who showed herself to Regina because sometime in the future, Regina would learn how to fix her. It was a conundrum Regina still hadn’t figured out, and couldn’t accept. Not the Evil Queen anymore, but a… pet? An ex-con? A trophy? What would she become to the Charmings that she could live with? Regina still hadn’t figured it out.

 

Especially _now,_ when it seemed like the comet and the moon would forever be on opposite sides. You’d think the threat of losing both their light would be enough to bring them together, but Emma was far too stubborn for that. Like all her kind, she refused to see reason—what was the point when the story would always provide a magical solution to every tough choice? So she argued for the boy as though she were fighting for Henry instead of endangering him.

 

“I know you collect hearts like other people collect stamps, but I’d prefer to concentrate on getting back our son.” Emma even paced around the Lost Boy like he was Henry. Perhaps she didn’t care for _Regina’s son_ at all. It could all be part of the Snow White package. She was obliged to be kind to animals and small children.

 

Regina stayed in front of the Lost Boy, a fixed point. She would stand where she always stood: between Henry and danger. And right now, the danger was the little shit not telling them where Henry was. “That’s what I’m doing! The moment his heart is in my hand, I’ll know where Henry is.”

 

“And you’ll scar a child for life!” Oh, such righteousness. Did it come with the blonde hair?

 

“He’s not _my_ child.”

 

Emma walked faster, protecting the boy like a junkyard dog. “You know, that’s your problem. All you see is yourself. You only care about Henry because he’s an extension of _you._ If you hadn’t raised him, you wouldn’t even lift a finger to save him. As funny and smart and incredible as he is, you’d just let him burn if he wasn’t _your son._ ”

 

It was moments like this Regina wondered if Rumpelstiltskin had really given her foresight and not just a series of delusions. It was harder and harder to imagine a future where she hadn’t burned Emma’s face off. “You’re one to lecture me about selfishness. I wouldn’t have had him in the first place if you hadn’t _thrown him away like a soiled tissue.”_

When Emma’s fists clenched and her eyes narrowed, she was the picture of her mother. Regina couldn’t, wouldn’t talk to her when she was like that. “Walk away Regina, or I swear to God, you can do your big reunion with Henry sporting a broken nose.”

 

Regina threw up her hands. “If you want to waste time babysitting, then you’ll excuse me to do something more productive, like washing my hair.”

 

She walked away, feeling Emma’s eyes burning into her back. The heat of it. The fire in her blood, making her feel feverish. She didn’t care what Emma thought of her. It just pissed her off that Emma was only callous with _her._ Where was the sensitive, caring, compassionate _princess_ everyone else seemed to be raving about? The one who starred in Regina’s future? What made her share that side of herself with Regina?

 

How did Regina trick her into it?

 

Her walk took her where she wanted: away from the others. To a hot spring that steamed into the frozen north of Neverland. Odd flowers ringed the few meters of its circumference, blooming in the warmth it provide. Stepping out of her shoes, Regina dipped a toe in. The perfect curative to the icicles pricking her skin.

 

She stripped quickly, feeling like she was ripping her way out of dead skin. Free. She stood in the perpetual moonlight and let the cold ripple across her skin for a moment. Then she slipped into the bubbling water, all the way up to her eyes.

 

It hurt, but Regina felt equalized. The pressure was the same inside and out. And without the cold, the temptation came back. She wanted to escape to a time where it was always this warm. Already, she saw the echoes: herself ten seconds from now, twenty, thirty. She just had to go further.

 

She closed her eyes and let the warmth permeate her. Foresight only seemed to work when she was relaxed. She let the tension of the argument leak out of her, her worry for Henry drain away. She knew he’d be safe. She’d seen it. It was just that _she_ wanted to be the one to save him. For once, not Emma or Snow or Charming. She wanted to be the hero.

 

Regina felt an airiness to her body. She was there—ten years hence, an incorporeal observer of herself. And her self was back in bed, wrapped up in blankets and comforter and even socks where Regina could see them poking out of the bed. Regina looked around. From the frost on the windows it was December, and her doppelganger (Regina had taken to calling her Mills) was nestled deep in her bedding.

 

Emma—(Regina shuddered inwardly)—was at the dresser, pulling on several layers of clothing. “Come on, Regina, time to get up.  Sleepyhead.” As much as it grated, Regina loved hearing the softness in her voice. It was weakness, and she would never get tired of being absolutely knowledgeable that Emma wasn’t as strong as her.

 

“I am the queen,” Mills answered, to Regina’s approval. “A queen may stay in bed as long as she wishes.”

 

“Yeah, hotshot? You have to pee sooner or later. I can wait.”

 

In a puff of purple smoke, the bed was suddenly stripped bare. A gentle whoosh of air sounded in the bathroom, and purple tendrils snuck out from under the door. Regina heard a liquid sound, a flush, then with another teleportation spell Mills was back in bed.

 

“That’s the laziest thing I’ve ever seen,” Emma said. “Teach it to me.”

 

“You’re such a bad influence on me,” Regina noted. Though that would be a neat trick to pick up.

 

A hand emerged from the puddle of blankets Mills was drowning in. The arm it was attached to was bare, the better to feel the silk sheets she was wrapped in. Mills crooked her finger. “Come here. Bring your warmth. Heat me up.”

 

“Regina, we have—stuff…”

 

Mills was turning over in bed, lolling out of her covers. Her bare breast was exposed, goosepimples dotting it. Over it, Mills cast an inquiring eye at Emma. “It’s so warm in here, Emma. I can magic us up some food. We can watch TV.”

 

“Reggie, with great power comes, ah—stuff…” Emma repeated.

 

“If you’re so undecided…” Mills slunk against the headboard like a cat, the rest of her cleavage coming out—nipples begging to be warmed by the energetic efforts of Emma Swan. “I could use the Voice.”

 

“There’s no need for that!” Emma pleaded.

 

“There’s always a little need,” Mills argued, her voice deepening. Regina recognized the silky timbres she’d used back in the Enchanted Forest. The sheer decadent delight that had filled her voice, having power and being willing to use it.

 

Emma bit her lip. “Well, you could… try the Voice, and we’d see if that helped.”

 

Mills sat up and spoke in a voice so throaty that even Regina was a little turned on. “ _Get in bed with me or I will destroy your happiness if it’s the last thing I do._ ”

 

Emma bounced on the balls of her feet. Regina just sneered at her. “You’re really going to say no to _that_?”

 

As if swayed by that unheard argument, Emma was suddenly peeling off her clothes. “Okay, okay! One hour! Then we are definitely getting out of that bed.”

 

Regina pulled back the sheets invitingly. Emma doffed what was left of her underthings—Transformers boxers, _Jesus_ —and hurried under the covers before the cold could get her. Mills wrapped her up in her arms and rubbed some heat into her skin. Emma _purred_ in happiness.

 

“This was a good idea,” Emma breathed, head thrown back against the pillow, golden hair over it like paint on a canvas. Mills wrapped up in her.

 

For Regina, it was like seeing the denizens of the Enchanted Forest under her curse. She, and only she, knew how they were supposed to act, think, believe. But they stayed in the poses she’d set for them like dolls, seeing nothing wrong with Ken wearing a pink minidress and Barbie going naked.

 

It was an optical illusion whose trick Regina could never see. This her was so weak. Needing validation from Emma, her approval, her _love._ How could she, any version of her, be so happy in her weakness? What advantage had she gained? Without her anger, what kept her from just… stopping?

 

Regina wished she knew, so she could have it without bringing Emma fucking Swan along for the ride.

 

Emma took charge of the sleeping arrangements, tucking the sheets under their bodies until they were cocooned together. Mills smiled unfettered—not a seductive smile, or an sinister one, or even a mischievous one, though all of those made it up. There was an easiness to it that Regina didn’t recognize. Couldn’t replicate.

 

“Who’s my toasty little burrito?” Emma asked, snuggling up to Mills in their own little oasis from the winter. “You are! Yes you are!”

 

“Keep that up and I won’t do the Voice for a month,” Mills said.

 

“You tell her,” Regina said, but without conviction. She could see Emma’s son— _her_ son—in the peacefulness with which Emma tucked herself against Mills. No fear, no caution. She stuck her head into the lion’s mouth and closed her eyes.

 

And they just laid there, yin and yang, perfectly balanced. Perhaps Emma admitting the darkness in herself had let Regina see her own light. But it wasn’t sexual—the fling Regina had taken it for at first. It was… they touched each other like someone would look at art, but without the pretense. There was no formality to it. They just wanted to feel the tiny spark of contact that even Regina could see; again and again and again.

 

As much as she hated to, Regina felt herself imagining what it would be like in that bed. True warmth. Not just friction, not just a top-of-the-line space heater and an overstuffed comforter. Someone to hold her through the night. Warmth that wouldn’t go away the moment her bed was empty. Warmth that would keep her bed full.

 

“Hey, Reggie.” Emma adjusted her firm grip on Mills. “Is there anyone I used to do that turned you on?”

 

“No, not really,” Mills said without thinking. Regina laughed. They really did have an excellent sense of humor.

 

“Oh, c’mon. You can admit it, wifey. I have no shame telling you that it really got me going when you got all butch—“

 

“ _Butch?”_ Regina and Mills interjected as one.

 

“You know what I mean. Powerful. Domineering.”

 

“I am _always_ powerful and domineering,” Mills protested.

 

Emma bopped her nose.

 

Regina slapped her forehead. “I suffer a head injury in the future. That’s the only reasonable explanation. Emma Swan, you are taking advantage of the mentally handicapped!”

 

“Remember that time you choked me?” Emma went on. “ _God,_ I got such a wettie.”

 

“Must not’ve been choking you hard enough,” Regina commented.

 

“And here I thought it was just the Voice.” Mills teasingly stroked Emma’s throat. She lapsed into her Evil Queen persona. “ _Spread your legs and I’ll use all the powers of Hell to make you come._ ”

 

“Oh, God, baby— _tingles._ ” Emma patted her lovingly. “Can it wait, though? I’m so comfy, and if we do _that,_ I’m gonna get sweaty, then I’ll need to shower… I just wanna nap on you. You’re so comfy. And warm. Fuck…” Emma yawned. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m weirdly turned on at the moment. If you weren’t here, I would think about ordering a porno. But I don’t think I’m up for much more than spanking the monkey.”

 

“You’re a woman. Do you even have a monkey?”

 

“It’s a metaphorical monkey.”

 

“Well, I could spank your monkey.” Under the sheets, Regina saw her own fingers—oh. “It’s been very bad, for a metaphor.”

 

“Oh fuck,” Emma wheezed, like a locomotive gearing up for a fast journey. “Okay… yes… just please… don’t get me sweaty…”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Mills promised, and licked a bead of sweat from Emma’s temple.

 

Regina felt her own heat growing inside her. Luckily, whatever she projected to be embodied in the future, it was capable of… enjoying itself. She sat at the foot of the bed and pulled her dress up her thighs. It wasn’t voyeurism, after all. Not when she was part of it.

 

Then, just as Regina heard the first moan, she felt cold. In a second, she was ripped back to the present. There was a ripple in the water. She watched as it flowed back from the future to the present, becoming a pebble that had been dropped into the hot spring, becoming a pebble in a hand, becoming a pebble being picked up by Emma Swan.

 

Emma Swan tossed a pebble into the hot springs and Regina opened her eyes. She was warm in every part of her body except one.

 

“Hey,” Emma said.

 

“Hey,” Regina replied. Their customary greeting. Neutral.

 

“Hot water…” Emma exclaimed, kneeling down to splash some on her face. “I think they got it all wrong. You’re the Savior.”

 

“Stop,” Regina said simply. She hated when Emma tried to butter her up, rare as it was. It felt too much like what the future’s Emma _actually meant._

Emma stood, wiping her arms down with the warm water. “I wanted to apologize for earlier.”

 

Regina dismissed her with a compressed stream of air blown between her teeth. “Don’t apologize for defending yourself. You’ll end up like your mother, and no woman wants that.”

 

“Then don’t play the villain. It takes two to tango.” Emma leaned sideways against a tree. “The kid talked. Hook had some chocolate on him, and it turns out Lost Boys can be bribed.”

 

“Wait… Hook had chocolate? And he didn’t share? Bastard.”

 

“Pirate,” Emma corrected. “And while I appreciate you pretending that you don’t care… okay, you look way too comfortable in there.”

 

Emma hopped out of her boots, having to eventually jump up and down to remove them. Regina at first thought this was proof that Emma could never be her true love. Then she found it cute.

 

Barefoot, Emma sat down and put her feet in the water. “Hell yeah,” she moaned softly. “You had exactly the right idea.”

 

“As per usual. Thank you for finally noticing. And for jamming your sweaty feet into my bath.”

 

“Like you weren’t sweating?”

 

“I’m a queen. I don’t sweat. I glow.”

 

“I’m royalty too!” Emma protested. “I glow.”

 

Regina found a fond smile on her face and didn’t know how it got there. “What did you want to tell me? I doubt you sought me out for the pleasure of my company.”

 

“Don’t sell yourself short. At least you’re not competing to be my Valentine like Hook and Neal.”

 

_Apparently I won’t have to, ‘dear’._

 

“And you don’t want a do-over,” Emma continued, weaker now.

 

Regina threw her head back against the lip of the hot springs and stared up. It was an overcast night, as usual—funny how a place you got to by heading for the second star to the right had none of its own—but the flowers danced into her vision when they swayed in the breeze. “Your mother loves you. She’s Snow White. She’s not capable of anything else. She probably loves _me_ somewhere in that pure, pure heart of hers.”

 

“Yeah. Imagine that.” Said like loving Regina _wouldn’t_ be the weirdest thing in the world.

 

Was this how it started? Regina just treated her with less than the absolute disdain she, alright, perhaps didn’t deserve, and then she latched onto her like a needy orphan? Regina had pictured herself seducing Emma, as she’d decided to seduce others for her purposes so many times in the past. A part of some larger scheme that had maybe gotten out of hand. But what if it was just something she let happen? It was called falling in love, after all—not climbing down in love.

 

“Stop evading the question,” Regina ordered. “Tell me what you came to tell me.”

 

Emma wiggled her toes under the water. “I just wanted to say—you know why I wouldn’t let you take his heart, right? Not this time.”

 

“Because you’re Good and I’m Evil, and however much our objectives may align, those capital letters will never be the same—“

 

“No!” Emma fairly shouted, then looked around the dark night, surprised at her own outburst. “I mean, that’s not it. If it was just me, I don’t know—I’d probably punch him in the face myself. But it’s _us._ And it’s Henry. And I can’t share my son with someone who hurts children.”

 

“Our son,” Regina corrected without rancor.

 

“Yes. Our son. We both have to be better. And I’ll say it, I don’t know how to be like you. A good mom. Patient and understanding and always with an answer to everything.”

 

“You don’t have to be.” The bitterness came easy to Regina’s voice, even talking with this woman whose destiny was slowly merging with her own. How could she ever feel right about someone else mothering her son? “He loves you.”

 

“For now. Until I tell him he can’t play some video game about stomping people’s guts out, or explain to him he can’t hang out with that guy who dresses entirely in black leather, or won’t let him borrow the car because he hit a mailbox, or have to explain to him why he’s still grounded when I caught him with weed a week ago. And you, you’ve probably trained for that shit like Batman trains for defusing bombs.”

 

“I could recommend some good literature,” Regina said wryly.

 

“I’d rather you be there with us. Every step of the way.”

 

“Want me to sleep on your couch?”

 

Emma grinned nervously. “Uhhh… or you could buy a sleeping bag.”

 

_Hellfire, she’s serious…_

Emma cast her face in a neutral expression, setting her jaw so much like the heroes she’d been spawned from. “Anyway, think it over. The Lost Boy said Henry’s even further north, so we’re heading there in the morning.” She looked up at the dark sky. “Or, you know, when we’re done sleeping. God, Pan really took this whole thing about not having a bedtime too far, didn’t he?”


	3. Chapter 3

They always slept on opposite sides of the camp, Regina alone and Emma with her people. And yet, they always ended up going to sleep facing each other. So while Regina was bundled up in some furs she’d summoned, Emma huddled in her family sandwich, David and Mary-Margaret sharing their warmth with her. And from their respective embraces, Emma and Regina eyed each other across the campfire.

 

Regina would be a liar if she said it didn’t sting, seeing Emma’s comfort with Mary-Margaret rubbing her arms. Even with Emma’s own isolationism. Even with Mary-Margaret’s recent admission.

 

But Regina had done worse things than lie.

 

She was tired of being cold. She was tired of it settling on her skin like morning frost. She didn’t want to feel it day in and day out. She wanted—just to warm her hands on the fire before she put it out, unmade the future, replaced that true love with someone else, _anyone else_. Hadn’t Tinkerbell pointed her toward a man? Unless Emma was going to learn some very interesting magic, Regina had options.

 

But before she exercised them…

 

Regina bundled herself up tighter and shut her lips even more tightly. She didn’t want any of them to notice what she was doing as she closed her eyes and—

 

Was watching Emma again, Emma and herself. _Mills._

Not winter anymore, but the ghost of winter, in the glossy patina of rain on the window, the damp and sputtering world outside the glass. And that depressing vista had worked its magic inside the room. That warm bedroom was turned gray by the sunlight coming in through the dusky clouds. Emma looked sick, pale and gray. Even Mills seemed—reduced.

 

Regina remembered the first time Henry had gotten sick—really sick. She’d been so busy caring for him that when she finally caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, it was like seeing the walking dead. Hair a mess, make-up destroyed, face drawn. The flawless statue she’d made of herself with the Curse, now vandalized. She’d let Henry into her perfect world, and for the first but not last time, he’d brought pain in with him.

 

And here was the same, spooling out in front of her. _The Evil Queen has no heart,_ they said. They were right. It couldn’t survive inside the chamber she’d made for it. She had to trust it to other people. Her mother. Her son. Now… her wife. And when they held it too tightly—when they let it slip from their fingers…

 

Mills kissed Emma’s cheek, trying to summon up that easy chemistry that had always come so fast to them. But this time it wouldn’t come, no matter how Mills touched her wife, how she kissed her.

 

“Lay back,” Mills said in her most seductive voice. “Let me do all the work. Just look at me. I’m here. Now. And I love you.”

 

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Emma’s voice sounded so unfamiliar. It took Regina a moment to realize that was what it was like without the fight in it. “You can’t take my mind off this. You can’t make me forget.”

 

“Emma, it’s been _ten years._ She’s gone. I hate seeing you like this…”

 

“So _go._ ” Emma said it so flatly. It hurt Regina even before she saw the pain on Mills’ face. “Go… watch a movie or play mayor or… just go.”

 

“I could go a million miles from here and I still couldn’t sleep knowing you’re in this pain. Every year, this day rolls around and it takes a bite out of you. I just want to protect you, like I could from anything else.”

 

“She’s gone, Regina. I was just getting to know her and then—how can I stop wondering what we could’ve had? _Christ,_ I don’t even know what she’d think of this.”

 

“She’d get used to it. I have.” Mills embraced Emma and held her the way Regina had once held Henry, wished she had held Daniel. Sheltering them from the entire world, because they thought it was good and she knew how evil it was. “She died fighting for you. The dreamshade was quick and painless. It’s what she would’ve wanted.”

 

“No, she would’ve _wanted_ to be my family. I just never gave her the chance.”

 

And like that, Regina knew. She knew what advantage she had gained. She knew why she had fallen in love with Emma Swan.

 

With Snow White dead, what reason was there not to?

 

***

 

Regina watched Emma sleep, bracketed by her mother and father. Were her dreams happy ones? Did she see Henry in them, assured by her goodness that her happy ending could come, see them reunited? Or were they nightmares? Were her eyes practicing the sight of what was to come?

 

It all made sense now. With Mary-Margaret dead, her idiot would be useless. Emma would be defenseless. On the side of light and goodness, she was the chink in the armor. Regina would go to her, comfort her, ply her. The relationship would be easy. As offensive as Emma was, she at least had no pretensions of being high and noble. If Regina could put up with King Leopold, she could put up with Emma, who at least knew how poorly she was and had a sense of humor about it. And Emma was much more attractive, as well. Probably more knowledgeable about how to please a woman.

 

And Emma, for all her faults, would fight for Regina. She wouldn’t allow the others to shut her out upon their return to Storybrooke. If the town wanted their princess, they would get the Evil Queen with her. And so, slowly but surely, Regina would get everything she’d ever wanted. Power. Respect. Love. Even family. The fact that it came handcuffed to Emma Swann was a small sacrifice. She’d made greater.

 

“It’s better this way,” she said out loud, hoping it would sound more believable in the open air. It didn’t. Had Mills known Mary-Margaret was going to die? As Rumpelstiltskin said it, the curse of foresight was that you could see but not change. Not really. Prophecies were fulfilled, visions came true. Stories changed in the telling, but ended the same way. Cinderella’s foot in a glass slipper. Snow White awoken from her glass coffin.

 

So it was all an act. Wasn’t it? It was _now._ She knew Mary-Margaret would die. She, who had burnt worlds and sketched new lives in the ashes. She could change things, if she really wanted. Or she could go along with fate’s plan, a willing accomplice, embracing her false redemption. It was a good deal. A wonderful deal.

 

She closed her eyes. She wanted to _see it._ She’d never had much control over the foresight—perhaps even less than Rumpel had had. But as with all magic, it came down to concentration and focus…

 

_“How am I supposed to know?” Emma asked, asks, will ask._

_Mary-Margaret replied and will reply and replies “The signs are all there, if you just keep your heart open. Don’t listen to your head. That will get in on the act soon enough. Pay attention to the sweat on your palms and your nervous heart and that warm feeling in your cheeks. Who makes your body do that? Hook or—“_

_The rest will never be said. It’s lost when the arrow impacts Mary-Margaret’s breast, the dreamshade working fast. Mary-Margaret is breathing in; she exhales her last breath. Falls as the ambush springs into action, Lost Boys on all sides. Regina sees her own fireballs light up the night. David hasn’t noticed his wife is gone; he’s leading the defense, Hook and Gold and even Neal. Only Emma notices, and her body folds up like a boxer trained to take a hit._

_She must’ve been expecting this—one more family taken away. There’s a scab-picking satisfaction on her face, a catharsis that now she can bleed and cry and lose. But she’s only able to hold onto her poker face a few seconds, then she can’t turn away. Then she has to rush to Mary-Margaret’s side and hold her body, begging for the magic to fix her._

And Regina recognized that pain. The hurt that was so much worse because you thought you could prepare for it. For so many years, she’d been ready for her mother to die. But just before Cora finally did, she smiled at her daughter. And Regina felt a lifetime of hope in the minute it took for Cora to leave her.

 

Like Regina, Emma had begun to believe she’d found her place.

 

Was this how Mills had changed? What let her find peace and happiness and love? Was it because, at long last, she had finally destroyed Snow White’s happiness?

 

***

 

“You’re quiet.”

 

Regina looked over in surprise at Emma, who had drifted toward her on that day’s walk. They now traveled alongside each other, Emma bundled in some of the furs Mary-Margaret had liberated from the island’s fauna. She still looked uneasy that her mother knew how to do that.

 

“Missing my dulcet tones?” Regina returned.

 

“Hearing you gripe cuts down on awkward silences. Haven’t we given you enough to complain about? Boneheaded mistakes? Poor company? Bad food?”

 

“The food isn’t so bad,” Regina mused.

 

Emma smiled fondly, as if she would’ve been disappointed by Regina _not_ slighting her. “You know what the first thing I’m gonna do when I get home is?”

 

“No idea. There are so _many_ recreational drugs to choose from.”

 

Again, the warm smile. “Ice cream sundae. Biggest one they make. In fact, I’ll see if they can make one bigger. I have a gun. Henry will get one of his own. You want one?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Ice cream sundae. My treat. You, me, and the midget. Soon as we get back to Storybrooke.”

 

Regina’s eyes flickered around, assuring herself of the green plants, the black dirt, the overcast sky. Everything that was in the present and not the future. “Usually, I would say the only reason you’d offer me any kind of frozen dessert would be to ruin my diet. Since I’m not on a diet—“

 

“What, you just _look like that?_ Holy shit.”

 

And now Emma was complimenting her. “I’m used to ulterior motives, so please, don’t try to manipulate me into anything. I’d be far more open if you just told me what you wanted. And perhaps groveled a little.”

 

“I don’t _want_ anything from you—and I don’t grovel except to get out of speeding tickets—I just thought.” Emma bit her lip like a little girl caught in a lie. “Okay, I heard you and Gold talking about how when he got back, he was going to get hugs and kisses from Belle, and you wouldn’t have anyone, so I thought, since we’re kinda… co-moms, that I could be your Storybrooke person.”

 

Regina’s brow furrowed. “You want to hug and kiss me?”

 

“No! Just give you a nice homecoming. I could get off the ship first, walk around the block, then you get off and I’m all ‘oh, Regina, you’re back, it’s so great to see you!’ But that’d be totally lame, so just let me buy you dinner.”

 

“And now it’s sounding like a date.”

 

“It’s not a _date._ Henry will be there.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure he’d be a more effective chaperone if he knew where babies came from.”

 

“Pretty sure he’d be more effective if he thought we _could_ have babies. Wait, when did we start discussing kids?”

 

“You’re right, we should get a dog first,” Regina teased.

 

Emma was flustering more and more by the moment. “We’re not dating!”

 

“Of course not. We have a son together. I think we’re past that.”

 

“Are you being funny? Stop being funny!”

 

“I’ve tried, but it just comes naturally to me.”

 

“Do you want me to take Tinkerbell out for ice cream instead? I’ll take Tinkerbell.”

 

“I’d be happy to get ice cream with you, just so long as you realize that I don’t do anything on a first date.”

 

Emma groaned and went to the front of the group. “Hey, Tink, what’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”

 

Regina watched her go. Something about the sag of her head seemed familiar. Disappointed in a way she wouldn’t show to Regina with words.

 

Regina didn’t often consider others’ feelings. Henry’s were important to her, because he’d earned the right to be thought of. But the others… nearly everyone she had ever met, really… they aligned themselves against her, denied Regina her very story in preference for some fable where she hated Snow White for _being prettier than her_ , and then expected consideration? No. Not for any of them. The only thought she put toward their happiness was how to ruin it.

 

But thinking of Emma… why would _she_ fall for _Regina_? It made little sense. Even in the wake of losing her mother, she wouldn’t be vulnerable—she’d be more closed off, not less. Sure, Regina could find a way in; she could be very manipulative when she chose to be. But this wasn’t just tricking someone into acting on her behalf. It was day in and day out, year after year, and done to get close to _Henry._ Who else could Emma be more protective of than him? And she’d be crowded with people wanting to comfort her: Hook and Neal and David. Why would it be Regina whose sympathy she accepted?

 

Did she already want it?

 

There hadn’t been any scheme when Regina had fallen in love with Daniel. No ulterior motive. No grand design. She’d just spent time with him. And he with her. They’d talked. Then they’d laughed. Then touched. By the time they kissed, it was too late for anything else. They’d become lovers. It was as simple and terrible as that.

 

Could Regina really have that with Emma? Could Emma _want that_ with her? Regina realized she was standing still. She put one foot in the front of the other, neatly, deliberately. She suddenly needed a closer look at Emma. The sound of her voice. The nearness of her.

 

“Don’t try to put love in a box,” Mary-Margaret was cautioning at Emma’s side. “It comes and goes as it wills. Listen to the woman who fell in love on a troll bridge. You think I wouldn’t have just gone to dinner and a movie if I had a choice?”

 

“Considering the movies in the cineplex, I’ll take the trolls. ‘Tron: Redemption’? Who writes this stuff?”

 

“Honey, stay on course. Just ask yourself: if the world was ending, who is it you’d want to kiss?”

 

“I can think of some people I’d like to punch… how am I supposed to know?”

 

Regina listened to their conversation, already knowing that Emma would be replaying it in her head. Her last mother-daughter talk.


	4. Chapter 4

The future. A story that could be edited, but not rewritten. And Regina ended up with Emma. Only she knew that it was hardly the love story it appeared on the surface. That it was she who’d picked up the book, started on the page of Mary-Margaret’s death and gone from there.

 

However real their relationship was, it would always be based on a lie. It would never be traced back to Regina and Emma, but to Regina and Mary-Margaret. Its roots would forever be yet another wound inflicted by the Evil Queen.

Mary-Margaret uttered her last words. “The signs are all there, if you just keep your heart open. Don’t listen to your head. That will get in on the act soon enough. “

 

Then Regina didn’t hear her anymore. She just heard her daughter.

 

_You know, that’s your problem. All you see is yourself._

She could stop Emma from hurting. It was as simple and terrible as that. She didn’t know if Emma was her fate. She didn’t even know if she _liked_ Emma.

 

All she knew was how it felt to lose your mother.

 

With a wave of her hand, magic sprung up in front of Emma and Mary-Margaret. Gratifyingly, they both walked into the invisible wall. Emma whirled around. “Hey!”

 

And missed the arrow that splintered against Regina’s magic.

 

“Ambush,” Regina said simply, reddening the night with her fire.

 

The rest was just violence.

 

***

 

Afterward, as they licked their wounds and tied up the Lost Boys who’d been knocked unconscious, Mary-Margaret was found kneeling by the line in the sand where the magic had went up. She was holding the fragments of the arrow that’d had her name on it. Emma was with her, saying something in a low voice. It sounded like ‘has changed’ to Regina, but they both cut off when she approached.

 

Mary-Margaret stared up at her like a puppet asking why her strings had been cut. “ _You_ saved me?”

 

Regina crossed her arms. “You’re useful at the moment. When you’ve helped save my son, then you have my permission to die.”

 

She strode away before Mary-Margaret could thank her more profusely. That would be uncomfortable for both of them. Then Emma was at her back, pulling her around.

 

“ _Thank you.”_

“I told you, it’s only because she’s trying to rescue Henry—“

 

“I know what you said, Bane. Still… thank you.”

 

Regina ran a hand through her hair. Fine. Just… fine. “You’re welcome.”

 

“Hey, I owe you one, alright? If you ever need anything—“

 

This was what she’d been afraid of. She could take saving Mary-Margaret’s hide—she couldn’t take being counted as one of their merry band of do-gooders, the reformed sinner, the penitent one. Just because she _would have_ regretted Mary-Margaret’s death didn’t mean she regretted any of the others she had caused, or that she had forgotten what drove her to that. Her anger was valid. It was _truth._ And they forgot that at their peril.

 

“Stop simpering before I find you more pathetic than I already do. If I saved Snow, it was only because I know her husband is trapped on this island. If she were dead, she’d miss out on the delicious choice of which blonde to estrange herself from: you or your dim-witted father. She’d probably get off on dying now, giving you even more motivation to fight the good fight. When and if I kill her, I won’t be taking her misery away from her. I’ll be stealing her happiness. The same as I’ll do to you if you get in my way.”

 

Emma didn’t look angry. She didn’t look hateful. She didn’t look anything at all, except _shut down_. Regina had found that a long time ago. The level of emotion that didn’t even show on your face because it couldn’t fit.

 

“I know you better than that, Regina. I just have no _fucking_ clue why you act this way when it’s not what you feel.”

 

“It’s not how you want me to feel, but it is the truth. Perhaps you’re simply not as skilled at ferreting out the truth as you consider yourself. After all, your mother’s disappointment in you came as _such_ a shock. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll make a great big sister.”

 

Gift of foresight and several decades of life: she still didn’t see the slap coming. If she had, it still would’ve hurt more than she’d have thought.

 

“Fine,” Emma hissed. “I don’t know you, Regina. And I don’t want to.”

 

Regina rubbed her reddened cheek as Emma stomped off. Let her go. She had Lost Boys to interrogate and a son to save. _Her_ son.

 

***

 

It was colder in the north of Neverland. Tropical in the south. No one could figure it out. Regina was tired of the cold. More than that, _sick of it._ She wanted the future again. Even though it had only been hours since she’d been there last.

 

But then, a lot could happen in a few hours. She’d saved Mary-Margaret, and already they’d forgotten about it. One more misadventure on their epic fucking quest. No idea that it’d been a hinge, the axis on which entire futures had turned.

 

Regina stared at the campfire, shedding all the warmth it could and never quite reaching her. She closed her eyes and kept them shut until even the red aura under her eyelids had faded. After that, it was just like having a dream.

 

She was in her house, only not as Emma had made it. It retained the sleek lines and pristine balance that Regina had instilled in it. Regina wondered at the timeline. It could be only a few months from now, before Emma moved in.

 

Footsteps on the tile floor. Regina turned, expecting Emma or Mills, not the person she did see. A teenage girl, dressed in fashions that had gotten even more ridiculous than in Regina’s time. Regina didn’t recognize her, and Regina recognized everyone. Twenty-eight years of her Curse had given her plenty of time to put everyone under the microscope. But a closer look showed her Jefferson’s eyes.

 

That daughter of his hadn’t died. Good for her.

 

“Hello?” she called to the empty house. She’d left the front door open like she was expecting a quick getaway. The house was dark, as well. Regina had first assumed it was night, but no, that impression only came from the heavy curtains that had been drawn, the lights that were all turned down. “It’s me, Grace. You told me to meet you here?”

 

“So. I. Did.” Mills’ voice came from the top of the staircase—imposing when it was shrouded in darkness. She came down the steps one at a time, making not a sound. She was dressed in neither the Evil Queen’s finery or the Mayor’s streamlined suits, but in a black robe that could’ve passed for either.

 

Regina raised her eyebrows. After that dramatic entrance, she would’ve expected scars, at least a new haircut. In Henry’s comics, the future always involved eye patches and cyborg parts. But it was the future self she was used to: the gray, the lines. Just not as soft. Around Emma, Mills was quick to smile. This woman did not seem so easily charmed. Regina approved.

 

“I thought this place was abandoned,” Grace said. From her trembling voice, she was of no heartier stock than her father.

 

“It is, dearie. It is.” Mills stopped at the bottom step. “Did you bring it?”

 

“Yes.” Grace unslung the backpack from her shoulder and unzipped it before Mills like they’d used to offer virgins to dragons. Inside, messily rolled dollar bills. “A thousand dollars. You can count it. I don’t mind.”

 

Mills stepped closer, both her incarnations enjoying how Grace shrugged back in rightful fear. “Whether you ‘mind’ or not is immaterial. But counting is unnecessary. I know it’s all there.”

 

Grace nodded absently. “You really live off these kinda… deals?” When Mills regarded her, she shrunk. “Some people say… they say people pay more than I do. For other things.”

 

“What things would those be, my pet?”

 

“Just… things. Things for bad people.”

 

“To be done _to_ bad people, or _by_?”

 

Grace looked away. “It’s none of my business…”

 

“It seems to be now…” With a wave of her hand, Mills produced a small vial, no bigger than a perfume bottle. “Your love potion. Drink the whole thing before bed. When you awake, you’ll be guided to your true love. Don’t fight it. Just try and enjoy.”

 

“Thank you. I wouldn’t… need it, you know, but daddy’s so protective, he barely lets me go out. I just don’t want to be alone.”

 

“We are all alone. Some people just use others to pretend otherwise.” Her robes billowing, Mills headed back up the stairs into darkness. Grace called after her, the foolish child.

 

“Thank you!”

 

“For what?”

 

“The potion. True love. They say you hurt people—cause pain. But you don’t, do you?”

 

“My dear _Grace,”_ Mills said the name with relish, like she’d tasted it. “I’m helping you fall in love. What greater pain could I inflict?”

 

Then the darkness had her.

 

Only Regina followed her, as Grace fled on her quick little legs. She watched as Mills turned on the light and worked too efficiently for it to be anything but routine. She vacuumed. She swept. She washed her dishes—a lonely plate with a spoon and fork. She sprayed the windows with Lysol and scrubbed them. She polished the wood. She Hoovered the furniture. For hours, she did this and Regina watched her. It was hypnotic, the little boredoms of life.

 

When she was done, the house was sparkling. But it’d been sparkling before. Mills went to her bookshelf. Regina recognized every volume on the shelf. Twenty-eight years of no one having a life but her had made her a voracious reader. After the Curse, she’d never found the time to update her collection. And apparently she never would. Each copy was as she’d left it, only more battered with use—dust jackets crinkled, pages bent, places marked. Mills looked through them like a gladiator picking a weapon, taking one and carrying it against her breast into the sunroom.

 

Outside, the gardens were as well-tended as ever, the apple tree fruitful. The lawn was manicured; leaf cuttings in lines across the yard showed it had been cut that day ( _this morning’s work,_ something whispered to Regina). Mills looked it over as Regina had once looked at Storybrooke. Her domain, her dollhouse, her playground. Her fortress.

 

This time, not of magic, but of isolation. Even from the inside, Regina could tell the house was not one that was approached lightly.

 

And, overlooking her kingdom, Mills read. Occasionally, she would highlight a passage—masticate the meal that had already been thoroughly chewed. Watching her, Regina felt like screaming. _Do something!_ You crossed three worlds and lived two lives to become this? Where’s Henry? Where’s Emma? How could they abandon you?

 

The phone rang. Regina heard it distantly, an echo in a far room, but Mills was more attuned to it than she was. The older woman strode confidently through her house until she was at the desk in her office. It was inside a drawer. Regina wondered how little she was called, that she could just leave it there.

 

Looking at the face of the phone was like taking the elixir of life for Mills. Suddenly, she lit up, and her hand blurred as she brought the phone to her ear. “Henry?”

 

Regina strained to hear, but all she could get was what Mills said. “Yes, I can still take you on Wednesday, it’s no trouble. I have your old room made up, just the way you left it—oh.” Regina knew herself well enough to realize what that neutral expression meant. When she was either pleased or displeased, it showed. When she was hurt, nothing escaped her mask. “A fishing trip. That sounds fun. No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just see you next week. Actually, if I have Wednesday free to work, then we can spend even more time together then. If you want to come over early, say. No, don’t put Emma on the phone, I’m perfectly—“

 

Emma, on the other hand, spoke quite loudly enough for Regina to hear. “Come fishing with us, Regina. I promise not to spring my parents on you. It’ll be just us and Henry.”

 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with him. Just as you wouldn’t want to intrude on mine…”

 

Even Regina winced at the discontent evident in her voice.

 

“Why do you always say no?” Emma asked, and you could’ve told Regina she was pleading.

 

“Why do you always ask?”

 

“You’re the mother of my son.”

 

“You seem to be mother enough for both of us.” Mills hung up.

 

Then she put the phone back in her office.

 

Then she washed her hands in the bathroom.

 

She did it five times.

 

Then she noticed some mold between the shower tiles.

 

Regina left as she scrubbed the grout like it held a million infections.


	5. Chapter 5

“Usually when I start swinging a machete around, people get that I want to be left alone,” Emma growled, punctuating her point by slashing a vine in two.

 

Regina understood her frustration. The Lost Boys they’d captured had said Henry had been moved south, right over their heads, so they were going back the way they came. And in that time, the jungle had regrown, forcing them to hack through it all over again. Emma took point, venting her frustrations. The cold and the labor made it worse, her exertion making her furs overwarm but the northern Neverland was still too cold to strip down.

 

Rolling her eyes, Regina grabbed Emma’s hand as she pulled back for another swing and massaged her wrist for a moment. Emma’s grip loosened and Regina took the machete from her. She stabbed it into the ground. Then balled up Emma’s fingers into a loose fist and held them in her own. Emma held still as the warmth and pressure of Regina’s hands worked on her tense hand.

 

“Massage therapy. That’s a new one.”

 

“I grew up… less than royal. And we didn’t exactly have cortisone at the corner store. You should take a break now and then. As butch as it is for you to act like a living chainsaw, keep that up and you won’t be able to hold a pen, much less a sword.”

 

Emma pulled her hand away, looking back for the others. They were far behind, scouring the cleared jungle for signs of a clear rock—one more magical tchotchke necessary to get Henry and get home.

 

“Here.” Regina pulled Emma’s furs off, slinging them over her shoulder, and conjured a fireball in her hand. With some concentration, it turned blue-hot, providing enough heat for both of them. “ _M’lady_ ,” she concluded, in the fawning manner of a royal retainer.

 

The joke was somewhat lost on Emma. “So, did I get drunk one night and enter into the world’s silliest bondage contract?”

 

“Not that I’m aware of, though Hook does seem to enjoy hearing you disparage him. God help us if you ever wear high heels around him.”

 

Emma picked up the machete and chopped down a stalk of bamboo. Sometimes, she was very easy to read. “Not who I was talking about, queenie.”

 

“You’re upset.”

 

“Ya think?”

 

Regina scowled. “I don’t understand. I’m _being nice!”_

Emma sighed and froze, halfway through the wind-up to another swing. “Yeah. For now. And then I’m going to be nice to you and you’re going to be horrible again, so you know what? I’m tired of making the effort. I appreciate all you’re doing, but I get it. You just want Henry back.” With a quick motion, she had the vine blocking her way disemboweled. “You’re the mother of my son and I don’t know who the hell you are.”

 

“I’m someone… someone who doesn’t want to be alone.” Emma looked back at her. Regina dropped the fireball and just rubbed her hands together. “I’ve been thinking about the future. There’s the one you talk about where I—you said something about a sleeping bag, and you being my Storybrooke person, and I kept telling myself I didn’t want that, but then there’s the other future. The one where I’m powerful and feared and respected—I’m just not loved. I’d rather be loved. Even if I’m not the Evil Queen. Even if I’m not _anyone._ I want to be loved.”

 

Emma just turned back to the jungle and kept cutting.

 

Regina stayed behind her, waiting for whatever Emma was feeling to make its way to the surface. It took her a few minutes to think of summoning up her fire again and warming them both.

 

In the light, Emma’s sweat glistened on her face like tears. Not that she was soft enough to cry. She was like Regina. “You cannot act like this with Henry,” she said, her back mostly turned. “I understand that you’re a hot mess. He won’t. You push him away one moment, pull him back the next, he’ll think it’s his fault.”

 

Well, _that_ subtext was easy to read. “It’s not your fault. It’s me. I am a…” Regina blew some hair out of her eyes. God, she hated the slang of Emma’s world. “I’m a hot mess. I’m sorry I was so rude to you before. I’ve been dealing with some things.”

 

“Yeah, we’re all dealing with ‘some things’. Hook’s got a dead brother, you hear about that? There’s more parental neglect going on in Storybrooke than on X-Box Live. Probably your fault for making a cricket the town shrink.”

 

Regina smiled a little. “The doctor’s real.”

  
“Yeah, thanks for making the most perverted guy in the fairy tale kingdom the breast exam dude.” Emma hacked through another vine. She seemed to be getting scarily proficient at it. “Neal’s back and my mom wants a shiny new kid and I have a pirate in love with me. And we traveled to the one world where there’s no sun, so God knows what it’s doing to my tan. Oh, and now the Evil Queen wants to be best friends. Anything I’m missing?”

 

“I know you’re gay,” Regina said.

 

Emma looked at her.

 

“That didn’t come out right,” Regina added, and winced. This was how it started. This was how she ended up as Emma’s… plus one. “Not ‘come out’ like that, I mean…”

 

Emma pointed at her. Not with the machete, thankfully. “First off, seeing as half this damn expedition is in love with me and the other half is related to me,” _or both,_ Regina thought briskly, “if you tell anyone, I am… punching you in the tit! Second, it’s not gay when you just don’t particularly care who you go home with when the bar closes, so long as they’re cute. It’s bisexual, or pansexual, or some dumb thing. I don’t know, I don’t have a tumblr. Third… I don’t have a third. Not gay, don’t tell anyone.”

 

“Don’t tell anyone you’re not gay?”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“Yes, the benefits of having a two-syllable vocabulary is that one is rarely misunderstood.” Regina held up her hand at Emma’s glare. “I say that in a teasing way, not in a hurtful way.”

 

“Oh, now I get it. This is your version of being sensitive.” The machete caught some of the light off Regina’s flame as it was raised. Like a lightning bolt just over their heads. “Relax. I’m not gonna teach Henry how to gay, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not very good at it myself. I don’t even watch Grey’s Anatomy.”

 

“Yes, but wouldn’t it just fit if Henry learned being gay from you instead of me?” It took Emma looking at her again for Regina to realize the conversation had veered even further from her plans for it. “I didn’t come out right. Wait… shit…”

 

Emma just seemed amused at this point. “So you called me gay and then came out to me. If this is how lesbians flirt, no wonder no one makes the first move.”

 

“I’m not flirting with you yet!” Regina insisted.

 

There was a long pause. Emma raised and lowered the machete a few times. “ _Yet?_ ”

 

“I… I…”

 

“Jesus, all the ways I’ve pictured you seducing me and _this_ is how you go about it. You’ve got me fifty percent there just looking the way you do, and you’re still botching it.”

 

“You’ve pictured me seducing you!” Regina said in triumph, just wanting to drag Emma down into the depths of embarrassment with her at this point.

 

“Yeah. Like I said, I’m attracted to cute… not sane.”

 

“Can we start over?”

 

“If you have a spell that can erase conversations, I’d eat my own head to learn it from you.”

 

“Not… everything. Start everything over. Like I wasn’t the Evil Queen and you weren’t the Savior. If I were just a woman, asking you out for coffee…”

 

“A total stranger asking me for coffee? What kind of girl do you take me for?”

 

Regina smiled weakly. “Look at me. Would you really say no?”

 

Emma smiled back, self-effacing. “I’m a good enough lesbian to know the pretty ones are generally crazy.”

 

“They can afford to be,” Regina shot back, her raised eyebrow making it clear she wasn’t referring to herself. Well, not only to herself.

 

Shaking her head, Emma turned back to the jungle she had to clear. Her swing embedded in the vine, not cutting it completely, and Regina was quick to step in and help with her magic.

 

“You could clear this whole forest in seconds, couldn’t you?” Emma asked.

 

“You seemed like you needed to hack at something.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m ready for the magic Paul Bunyan act. Hit it.”

 

“In a moment.” Crossing her arms guardedly, Regina leaned against a tree. “I’m not going to ask you to cuddle with me this very night, like Hook and that other one seem so set on. But we’re on a journey together. And I want to take the first step as soon as possible.”

 

“Jesus. You gonna start talking about how my heart’s a bird or something now?”

 

“Want me to?”

 

Emma shook her head. “Step fucking one. Alright. How about you tell me why you’ve gone from hating me and, by the way, my entire family, to suddenly wanting to grow old together? Because if this is just one more fucked-up scheme to get close to Henry…”

 

“It’s not!” Regina forced herself to calm down. She could _taste_ the old fears, the same ones that had claimed her so long ago, when Tinkerbell had given her another chance at true love. And ever since then, she’d buried herself in grief so deep that she could never feel this particular brand of weakness again.

 

But she had to feel it. The fear of rejection, the uncertainty, every jagged bit of it. Because it was the difference between a life with her son, no, her _family_ and a life alone. “When Henry was kidnapped, I was so worried. You have no idea, Emma. I’ve had him for over a decade, and every day I fell more in love with him. And then to have him turn on me—to have to _prove myself_ worthy of being his mother… and just when I thought we’d gotten back to each other, he was gone again. Gone and in _danger._ I couldn’t stand it. I physically _could not_ stand it.”

 

Emma knew how this song went. “What did you do?”

 

Regina worked her lips between each other. “Gold has a power. A certain… foresight. He can see things before they happen. It’d become a burden to him, so I offered to take it off his hands. I just wanted to see that Henry would be alright. And he is—he will be. But that’s not all I saw. I saw _us._ ”

 

Emma stared at her for a moment, like she was gauging Regina’s sincerity, if not her sanity.

 

Then she hit Regina in the arm as hard as she could.

 

“Oww!” Regina cried, with all the dignity of a fourth-grader on the playground. “That really hurt!”

 

“Didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

 

“It doesn’t _work like that._ I have to go into a sort of trance, and then I can’t control what I see or when I see it…” Regina rubbed her arm. “I think it’s going to bruise.”

 

“Yeah? You knew Henry was going to be fine all this time and you _didn’t tell me?_ ”

 

“He’s… I…”

 

“You didn’t even think about it, did you? God! You selfish brat.”

 

“ _Brat?_ I saved your mother!”

 

“Another—hold on. Was that another one of your dumb visions? You save Mary-Margaret and she gets Henry back?”

 

Regina smiled a little, feeling like she’d outmaneuvered an opponent. “No. Actually, in the future I saw, Snow had been dead for years. I think that was how we ended up together. I… comforted you.”

 

Emma started to make a gesture, realized she was still holding the machete, and tossed it aside. “Okay, so in the future, we’re a couple…”

 

“Married couple.”

 

“ _Shit._ Okay, we get married, but it’s all because Mary-Margaret dies. Alright, if you’re so onboard with this idea, why’d you save her? Seems like you messed up a real win-win situation.”

 

“I didn’t want to see you hurt.”

 

“Oh, _come on._ ” Emma paced frantically, like she could hypnotize Regina by walking in front of her fast enough, get her to tell the truth. “So why are you telling me this? Is there some future roadmap you’ve following? Do you have some big list of lotto numbers to play when we get back too?”

 

“ _It doesn’t work like that,”_ Regina insisted. “I changed the future. Now, when I look ahead, all I see is… loneliness.”

 

“So that’s it. You finally end up paying the piper for being such a witch all the time and I’m your get out of jail free card.”

 

“ _No.”_

“And where am I in all this? In your future where George Bailey is never born? Maybe I’m happier. Maybe Henry’s happier. Did you ever think about that?”

 

Regina reached out and grabbed Emma’s shoulders, holding her still. The touch took Emma by surprise—as forceful as she expected from Regina, but an entirely different energy from the threats she was used to. There was a kind of concern to it.

 

“Honestly, I didn’t spend much time there. I didn’t like it. But both you and Henry seemed fine. The thing is, I can’t imagine you two being happier than you were with me. I saw the life we had together, Emma. It wasn’t just some sitcom. It was beautiful. _We_ were beautiful. We take care of each other, we look out for each other—we’re family. And it feels so good just to see that togetherness. I watch us… chopping vegetables together and watching TV and shopping for groceries, just to get me through the day. I’m tired of looking at that. I want to touch it.”

 

Emma had gotten past the protests and the arguments. She just sagged against a tree, holding onto it as she faced Regina. “It’s not real. It’s some trick Rumpel’s played on you, to make you dance to his tune, just like he always does—“

 

“It’s real to me!” When Regina tried to calm down this time, she was surprised by how her heart was racing. “I spent enough time fighting it to know there’s something there that’s special. And I know it’s going to be hard and weird and a million other things, but it’ll be worth it. Just trust me. Let it happen, and I promise you, it’ll be worth it. I’ll be worth it.”

 

Emma’s head drifted against the tree trunk. “I can’t even think about this stuff right now. You’re going to have to get in line. Hook and Neal and now you. And Mary-Margaret and David… everyone wants me to love them. Maybe I don’t have all that much to give, you know? I’ve put all I’ve got into Henry, and he could probably use more. Don’t even have any left over for myself most days—“

 

It was like remembering the steps to a dance—watering a seed that just needed someplace to set its roots before it could grow. Regina leaned in and took Emma’s hand and kissed it gently on the back. Not too hard, not too soft. Something to grow on. An echo before the sound. “I’m going to love you,” she said, just as gentle, and stepped back.

 

She had a forest to clear.


	6. Chapter 6

It was possible the reason Regina was so happy in the future was that, wherever she went, it would always be an improvement on Neverland. The one thing she would miss would be the hot spring which, wonder of wonders, they circled back on in their never-ending quest to find Henry while he still had baby fat. Regina sunk into the warm water and cast herself through time. She needed to see the future. Just as she once hadn’t been able to take Henry’s fate being a mystery, now she couldn’t stand not to learn her own.

 

It was a bright, clear day in Storybrooke. A car was coming down a nice, clean street. Even in the future, nothing Japan or Detroit could come up with could match the majestic elegance of a horse, but it looked safe enough as it pulled into the driveway. The door opened and Regina took a step back.

 

There was no question about it. It was Henry. He’d developed Emma’s strong jaw, his grandfather’s scruff, and the hair endemic to all college kids, but he was _hers._ There was no mistaking him. Alive and healthy and just… happy. He looked like a fine young man. Like Daniel had looked, maybe with a young Regina out there somewhere, falling in love with the stableboy.

 

_This is enough,_ Regina thought. Let Emma hate her. Let _him_ hate her. She’d stay in that sterile house like it was a jail cell, so long as Henry ended up like this and not like her.

 

Then she turned and finally saw the house he’d pulled up to. The manor. Regina’s manor. She tried to stop herself from hoping. Maybe Mary-Margaret had kicked her out of it, exiled her once more and taken her rightful place. But then he went to the front door and it flew open before he could even knock, Emma there—and she was so _bright,_ so _open,_ Regina barely recognized her. Ten years of rehabilitation, of being able to feel things instead of hide them. Being able to _breathe._

_I could do that for her,_ Regina thought. _We could learn it together._

And again, the voice, the fear of hoping and wanting only to be denied. But she wanted this. She needed it. Her face was slacken as she watched them hug, talk about college, Emma ruffling her son’s hair. _Please,_ she thought, as if this were another magic spell she were casting. As if here too she could just impose her will on the universe, rewrite the rules until the game went in her favor.

 

And then she arrived. The woman Regina had first seen in her visions. Herself through a mirror lightly. Not imposing. Not powerful. Garnering only the respect any person was due, being judged by her actions and not her past, a wife and a mother, all the parts of herself that had been cut away finally regrown. She wrapped her family up in a hug and all three of them had forgotten how unthinkable this once was.

 

“Thank you,” Regina whispered softly. “I promise I won’t give up on you. All three of you. I’ll keep fighting for this.”

 

Mills looked up and—Regina could’ve sworn it—smiled at her. She patted Emma and Henry on the back, sent them inside with talk of a pie cooling on the windowsill, then walked around the house.

 

Her finger beckoning in Regina’s direction.

 

Regina followed her into the privacy of the rose garden, her heart helplessly expecting a trap. Some twist to dent her happiness, an affair or a scar or _something._ But Mills just sat down on a porch swing and—spoke.

 

“Hello Regina. You might want to take out your notepad.” Too shocked to be less than obedient, Regina patted at her pockets. “Jacket, right inside pocket.”

 

She found it. Pen too.

 

“Write this down, dear. You’ll recall the first bit, but as for the rest—you’ll have better things to remember.”

 

Regina jotted down what Mills had said. “How is this possible?”

 

“Well, neither of us is going to get to know quantum physics beyond what it takes to watch a Terminator movie, but as near as I can figure it, the future is like anything else. Being observed changes it. Your visions, and your reaction to them, changed the future once. Now it’s changing again. I really hope we’re on the same page when it comes to this ‘happy ending’. I don’t want you to remake the world yet again so I’m a cyborg or some such.”

 

Regina dotted the period of the last sentence. “Hence the notepad. So you can ‘remember’ what I’ll say—“

 

“—to the point of finishing your sentences,” Mills concluded. “Isn’t time travel fun? Now, assuming you’re happy with this future and its lack of killer robots, I suggest you get rid of your foresight as soon as possible to stop any more alterations to the timeline. You’ve heard it said that it doesn’t do to dwell on the past and forget the present. Well, the same applies to the future. Our life won’t be perfect, but it’ll be ours, and we’ve wasted enough time trying to put right what’s gone wrong. Give your gift to Kahlan—you’ll meet her soon enough. And then just do the best you can.”

 

“But how will I know for sure? What if the future changes again? A butterfly could flap its wings and—“

 

“Don’t start with the butterflies. Just have a little faith. Deserve happiness and it tends to—“

 

“Hey, is this the future talk?” Emma came around the corner. “I knew it! Where’s past Regina? Is she making the face? The angry little chipmunk face?”

 

Mills sighed. “Unfortunately, some things will never change. No, Emma, I don’t know if she’s making the face, I can’t see her.”

 

“But you remember being her. Did you make the face when you were in the past?”

 

“I don’t recall.”

 

Regina was making the face.

 

“So where is she, I don’t want her checking out my ass while I’m talking to her.” Emma followed Mills’ line of sight to Regina’s apparently very predictable position. “Hello from the future, Reggie! Sorry in advance for, like, our first nine dates. By the way, totally going to find that notepad you’re writing in and figure out all this time travel bidness.”

 

“No,” Mills said, answering Regina’s unspoken question, “that slang will _not_ come back into fashion in the future. Emma is just… Emma.”

 

“BTW, FYI, do not get me black diamond jewelry. It never works with my look, but I always try to make it work because out of context it looks so nice and you seem like you tried really hard but, no. Doesn’t work for me.”

 

“I thought you liked black diamonds,” Mills said.

 

“You also thought the sun revolved around the Earth for, like, most of your adult life.” Emma turned and called “Hey, Henry, wanna talk to your mom from the past?”

 

“Stop giving her knowledge of the future!” Mills insisted. “Too much foreknowledge can alter history. Don’t you watch Star Trek?”

 

“Henry, tell past Regina how often you use those French lessons she insisted you get!

 

“ _Un peu!_ ” Henry called from inside the house.

 

“Regina, you’d better go,” Mills said. “But don’t worry, you’ll have ten years to get used to this.”

 

“2017 Best Picture Oscar!” Emma yelled. “The Hobbit: Empire of Steel. Do not lose the office pool this time! And yes, there end up being five of those movies. I still don’t know if Bilbo gets back to the Shire.”

 

Regina closed her eyes and concentrated on returning to the present. Her future self was right. When it came to the future, a little knowledge—in Emma’s case, _very little_ —was a dangerous thing.

 

“Enjoy me rocking your world!” Emma called after her, as the shock of the future faded back into the gentle warmth of the present.

 

At least until Regina opened her eyes and saw Emma across from her.

 

“Hey,” she said, like they weren’t both naked in the same hot spring.

 

“Hey,” Regina said back, likewise.

 

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, though it wasn’t like Regina could see much through the bubbling water (she hadn’t checked). “I realize how this looks, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t jump to conclusions. This seemed very romantic when I was taking my clothes off—“

 

“By all means, I won’t draw any conclusions from you being naked and making a quote-unquote ‘romantic’ gesture.”

 

Emma groaned, but could admit that she deserved that. “I just wanted to let you know—in a fun, spontaneous way—that I’ve been thinking about what you said. And. I still don’t know if you’re seeing the future or what. But if you really do have feelings for me, I don’t want to waste time making you jumps through hoops when we can be… doing things that aren’t jumping through hoops!”

 

“While not _jumping to conclusions,”_ Regina leaned forward, “this talk does seem a mite bit flirtatious.”

 

“I still don’t know if you’ve changed. But I want to believe you’ve changed. Is that enough?”

 

“A chance is more than enough. More than I deserve.”

 

“Then… I had a speech, but then you were naked so—screw it. Wanna be my girlfriend?”

 

“Yes, but—“ Emma groaned again. “ **Yes.** I said yes first. It’s just that you’ve been in love with me all this time, haven’t you? The only thing that changed the future was me. My willingness to be loved by you.”

 

“You are far easier to love when you have your head out of your ass.” Emma uncrossed her arms as she spoke. Regina might’ve checked then, but she was just suspicious of Emma having a nipple ring.

 

“So, now what? I think you have more experience at adult relationships than I do.”

 

“There’s a scary thought.”

 

Regina tilted her head. “I could make a few suggestions. When it comes to choice of activities.”

 

“Wow, you’re almost too suave to use good grammar.”

 

“This does seem like our best chance to resolve some of our sexual tension without frostbite.”

 

Emma bit her lip. “I really do want to go on some nice, normal dates and build trust and take things slow and… and hold hands…”

 

“I’m very good at holding hands.” Regina smiled. “I have two of my own.”

 

“Yes. A nice, normal, lovey-dovey relationship full of trust and caring and affection. After you fuck my brains out.”

 

“Thought you’d never ask.” Regina slid closer to Emma. Just close enough to whisper in her ear. She used the Voice. “Poor dear. Thinking you could resist me, your Evil Queen. My touch will make you shudder with pleasures you can scarcely imagine.”

 

“Uhh… keep talking like that, I don’t think you’ll have to.”

 

Regina gently parted Emma’s legs as the blonde wrapped her arms around Regina’s shoulders, letting the other woman hold her up as she was opened. Regina’s hand ran from the inside of Emma’s knee to the flesh of her inner thigh.

 

“You know, in the future, I’ll be able to make you come with just one little finger?” Regina grinned into Emma’s throat. “I’d better start learning that.”

 

As it turned out, there was something Emma did that Regina liked just as much as Emma liked the Voice.

 

Call her egotistical, but she just loved it when people screamed her name.

**Author's Note:**

> Please disregard if uninterested, but due to some personal difficulties, I'm now taking commissions. Details in my profile.


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